


Taste

by Anonymous



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Relationships: Balalaika/Rebecca "Revy" Lee
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	1. Chapter 1

There’s only one thing that her dad has done to her only once in her entire life. That thing was him choking her, forcing her to take a breath for every punch to her gut. When she fell he probably didn’t even expect for his hand to find purchase on her ankle.

Poetic isn’t it? If she died right there with those snowflakes on her skin, that mark on her neck would’ve been his last message before she would glide to the afterlife. 

That experience is worse than the burning sensation her knee got when it was fucked by a silver sword. At least that was an execution, her father’s intent was a message that had the same weight of a butterfly’s wing when cut off and that’s when her death warrant was signed.

That message left her scared shitless as realization hit her that her own father is ballsy enough to kill her with his own bare hands. Before that she would always receive a punishment that she knew would hurt like a bitch yet she’d still be able to walk to school the next day.

Even after the first jangle of metal on her wrists the thought of her throat being choked dry makes her heart beat slower in an upbeat cry for glory.

Hands can only move so much in the tight little space that handcuffs provide. A mouth can form words that lighten and junction that space into something greater.

If a mouth can’t form words, there’s no light. Even your actions are shittier than the person you’re fighting against since your nails can’t impale rugged skin. Weaker than the force you’re fighting against words are your only darkness since that implodes in a brain and causes chaos in the black mist of doubt.

Acrylic nails and pads of fingers on her neck are a vex on her soul as it makes her heart beat in pale moments of docile shouts that make her mewl like a kitten. Putting that trust in another fellow human; allowing that primal display of submission is something Revy never thought she’d offer as a gift.

It seems to be a gift in Balalaika’s arctic eyes as well. Having someone at your mercy, with them allowing that mercy to be drawn out must be meaningful in some way to her. Being submissive means vulnerability; at least for Revy.

Tickling is another way that she’s incredibly vulnerable. When she’s left panting and left for air from snorts and ghosts of laughs as Balalaika is stroking a sensitive part of her ribs. A tiny, tiny corner of lips is still upwards when it happens.

Something that her Sis thinks she doesn’t notice when she’s squirming in her grasp and has her head curling in directions to somehow stop the happy punishment forged upon her. Unfortunately Revy has not figured out Balalaika’s tickle spot, if it’s even present. She’s assuming feet at this point though Revy really doesn’t want to be knocked out by a foot to her face so it still remains a mystery.

At other times they have vulnerable moments where they’re still in the afterglow of the best fucking sex; giving glances or simply holding each other, writing names onto the other’s skin. Balalaika has grown to not stiffen up every time she starts a letter S. 

While Revy herself has learned not to do the same every time a nail starts a B. They both had to learn how to spell the names correctly when repeated mistakes were made at first. A routine has started and intertwined each other like red strings of fate whenever they’re together.

Recently more food has been left in the hotel fridge and every time Revy enters the room she’s ordered to obtain some form of nutrition from it. Along with the godly hair brushing every morning that has her slowly pushing her body back into her Sis with each stroke.

In the home with “dickhead” his mom must’ve not known he was a boy at first because she loved torturing Revy with every girly or feminine thing possible. That included being a virgin daughter of God, which at that point she definitely wasn’t.

On Sundays it would hurt the most since they were all going to the house of God. Finally at the fucking place they had to go on their knees and walk in lines. Unlike everyone else she had to do an x with her arms since she wasn’t baptized. Thankfully after the “wine incident” she ran away before being baptized by the local priest.

The fabled Whitman Fever is another topic that is increasingly making Balalaika more frustrated and perplexed whenever it shows up; thankfully, not in the moment. Patterns of ghosts in Balalaika’s mind has also made Revy equally frustrated and confused.

To counteract this problem protocols have been made. With Balalaika, Revy has learned the five senses trick along with kisses along scars and truths of beauty being explored. Taste is her personal favorite since that means they get to kiss.

Kissing scars and whispering along them always end up with her Sis being somewhat surprised each time it’s done. Revy only kisses softer at that and even starts trying to sound like Romeo with each confession of beauty. Either way the result is good even if there’s a chuckle at her fumbling of words.

Quickly, Balalaika learned that five senses does not work with Revy in her fever. Especially with taste, since that left her having to be gagged from her screaming. 

What does work is Revy’s wrists being restrained with a pattern of pressure varying from firm to loose. Finally when she’s out of the fever an embrace accompanied with hair stroking gets the job done as she falls asleep.

Sleeping alongside each other has resulted in Balalaika using her body as a teddy bear. Being a teddy bear isn’t that bad though at times it’s difficult to find a proper position for to breathe. She’s not even sure if her Sis really registers the action. It seems more like an instinct for body contact with another person than a form of affection.

Another action that seems instinctual is Balalaika’s possessiveness of her. Seriously, with the way hickeys are forming on Revy’s neck they’ve had to buy a lot of concealer. Along with a restriction of the amount of time being spent on hickeys alone. Hickeys are nice, though attention else ware would be much more appreciated. 

Humor is added into the mix too as Rock is unknowingly in a dick measuring contest twenty four seven.

Height difference is a blessing and curse at the same time. Half the time Revy has to go on tiptoes which is a real pain in the ass. Fortunately, Balalaika is able to hold her up while they make out. It is very, very, hot to Revy and most of the time she doesn’t even go on her tiptoes anymore in an attempt to reach lips.

Sofiya

That’s the name of the woman who’s now currently nuzzling into her neck as golden hair bares itself over both of them. Scars are ridden in her skin like flowers blooming as the full moon bares it’s claws on her body. Claws that only reach out to Sofiya as she stays there poised like a human shield before it reaches Revy.

Fuck that. A grunt reached her ears as Sofiya attempted to stop her squirming with solid arms. A mission still succeeded as the claws only hit the street rat instead of the queen. Blue eyes met brown and they were reminded of their favorite sense.

Taste


	2. Senses

“No person was ever honered for what he received. Honor has been the reward for what he gave.”

That’s a quote that Revy never expected to hear. The whole concept of honor in general never really stuck with her. Well that’s not true. At a younger age, she liked to hear that word, the unbridled fantasy of war heroes who could use guns for good. That’s at least what they said on Veteran’s Day at the homeless shelter. 

The stories they told were good at least, a couple of them even willing to share more stories if she helped them out a bit. It kinda changed her in a way; hearing about what they survived, what they did. Guns, glory, and guts. Those three words could change her life for the better. 

Finally, her father would understand and learn. He would stop and listen for once. “I don’t wanna drink.” A loud, demonic laugh was the response as little Becky stood up straight with her chest puffed out and head held high.

“I don’t wanna drink.” Bloodshot eyes matched a humorless grin as he gritted out those words. Mr. Lee’s voice was deep and gruff, spiking along the inside of his throat as the alphabet cursed itself in her face.

Yet he did a lazy smile to her when he was called to her school over an inappropriate name being written on all of her work. Scribbled writing wrote out a dirty word named after a dirty kid. 

That’s when she was in kindergarten; that she wrote out the word whore on the black line and blocky letters that spelled out the word name. Because that’s what her name was.

Despite all of that, the word honor still burned on the insides of her brain with raw passion and glory that only knights and superheroes would have. It felt nice; knowing that you could use guns for a good cause. Like pulling the trigger of a gun on your own dad. That’s a real good reason. It’s not because she wanted to anyway. What else could she have done? 

Have hope? Having to wait for some reward for being faithful to the big man above the clouds only to keep fucking praying with no answer. The hope never lasted anyway. All of that naïve and fucking idiotic hope drained down the shower drain as a washcloth rubbed red skin on a body. 

Pints or even gallons of blood must've been licked off. That's at least what it felt like since her whole body reached a point where it just couldn’t stop oozing it. A tongue violated an open wound, continuing to lap at her and dig in to reach more red that was deeper and darker than the last lick. 

When the bullet hit her dad’s skull the first thing Revy felt was shock and sadness. At that she died. Killing your own father in his own bed while you simply stare at the droplets of blood that’s sliding down a sheet, dropping to the wooden floor with the weight of a grenade pin. 

For some reason after she killed him she thought it was going to repeat one of the movies where the hero says a one liner and goes off to celebrate the defeat of the villain. 

“Oh.”

A kiss to a neck brought Revy out of her thoughts as she fell back to reality. “Milaya.” Fuck. She’ll never get tired of Balalaika speaking in her native language. 

“Yeah?” Revy asked. The question came out muffled from the neck she was kissing, each scar gaining special attention as her lips trailed along them. Balalaika groaned at a particular kiss and pulled Revy away from her neck. 

Balalaika held her there, tracing skin that didn’t hold the same scars that were on her own body. “You’re too quiet.” Lips pursued to return back to a neck, away from the small talk. It was a quiet effort, one that proved useful as kisses placed themselves on scars once again. 

“I thought you liked me being quiet.”

“I do,” Balalaika confessed. Hurt flashed in Revy’s eyes as her body grew rigid against the blonde. Trying to squirm away had strong arms locking her body in place as hot breath trailed into an ear, ready to make amends. “Sometimes, though you seem lost in thought.”

“And what if I am?” Revy dug her nails into arms, gritting her teeth at the amount of pressure that wasn’t doing a damn thing. “Now I’m not allowed to think?”

Balalaika had a stony expression as she retracted her arms and rolled over so she wasn’t facing Revy. “I was going to ask if you wanted to talk about what was troubling you. Obviously now I see that you don’t want to.”

Revy panicked as she crawled over Balalaika, ignoring the grunt of annoyance as the Russian faced the ceiling. 

“I-fuck. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” 

“I don’t fucking know.” A sore explanation that didn’t mean shit. That’s what the expression on the older woman’s face said. No change or new meaning, just words that bounced off golden armor. 

Revy lowered her body so her forehead was touching a collarbone. A sharp breath blew out when fingers started to stroke along it. “I was just thinking.” Lips trembled, eager to let everything fall through onto Balalaika’s mind. Scared of the weakness shedding through her vocal cords. “About stupid shit from the past.” 

A hum vibrated along a body, bringing out a curve of lips. “About everything from the past.” A pirate whispered out words, the truth of them staying hidden in a kiss on a scar. “I hate it.”

“Do you?” Balalaika again started to stroke a neck, moving towards the expanse of shoulders. An ashamed noise leaked out of Revy when she heard an answer she didn’t want. Nevertheless pink nails continued to draw patterns and words in Russian on a small body. 

“Our past whether we like it or not, makes up the walkway for our future,” Balalaika said. Revy sucked in a painful gulp of air and released it. “Though it’s up to us of what we make in the present because of our past.”

A lip quivered, and words became confused with each other as Revy moved closer, trying to achieve a closeness that she’s unaware of. “Don’t think Rebecca. Your needless thoughts will one day crush you in your search of what if’s.” 

Revy scrunched her eyebrows, jaw tightening, then released a jagged laugh, “My Romeo rubbing off on you?” She shook her head as she urged her entire being to relax. Everything soon began to roll into a sense of ease as pink nails found an itch on a back. Cheeks flushed as a gasp escaped a mouth, and a body shifted to aid the pink nails in their hunt of itchy spots. 

“I’m not quite sure,” Balalaika said. Fuck, she’s using her mocking voice. Revy lifted her face so she could see the blonde. Anything to see the glint in her eyes as she has her fun. “Maybe you should find out.”

“Sis,” Revy whined. The whine didn’t work, it only served to create more twinkles in warm eyes.

“What? You’ve done it before, this should be easy. All of your lines memorized right?” Balalaika leaned close, her voice bordering on her Russian accent. “Or should I find your papers for you?” A squeak popped out of Revy as teeth nipped at her earlobe. 

“Shaddap!” 

The older woman tried several attempts to again get closer to an ear as a head turned away. After a while they both waited for the other to make a move, one of them the hunter while the other remained prey. “I’m waiting.” 

“I can’t.” The two words came out broken and weak. Revy closed her eyes shut as she burrowed her face in Balalaika’s neck, covered by the blonde hair. Lips pressed against a neck, awaiting for the worst. 

“I know you can.” 

“It’s different,” Revy said. It was different and they both know that. Never once had Revy ever done this in front of Balalaika when she wasn’t in the past. With her being only halfway there and not taking account on exactly what happened between them. 

Balalaika seemed to sense the unease as her hand cupped a cheek. “I’ll close my eyes.”’ Revy leaned into the touch, almost forcing the hand to move. Quietness pumped in between them as eyes were starting droop, a body becoming loose under a thumb that petted skin. “Surely that’ll make it easier.”

“No!” Revy exclaimed. Eyes opened in pure panic, a throat bobbed as it swallowed, and a hand latched onto a wrist. “I need them open.” Balalaika glared at the outburst, her hand dropping down from its position.

No bandaid could’ve predicted what the sudden loss of that affection meant. Lost, she doesn’t have a bandaid. A pathetic whimper left Revy. Shadows formed in the corner of her eye, all of them wearing silver rings as they exposed their hands. Buttons too many buttons, too much blue, she’s going to get kicked, get kicked-

Gums began to flaunt off the whites of canines and the rest of Revy’s teeth that was ready to gnaw on bone. An arm swung back, preparing for a punch. Motion sped up the speed of knuckles meeting a face, but it slowed, then stopped. There were handcuffs, and they weren’t going to come loose.

Balalaika shifted her hold so that she was holding two wrists in one hand, her other hand laying flat against the left side of a face. Laying Revy down and releasing wrists, she made sure that the right side of a face was touching the bed, her hand stayed. “Breathe.” 

Revy did breathe. Harsh pants that matched her heartbeat, her entire form acting as if the wind got knocked out of her. A heart stopped right as hair began to be touched. Dry sobs cracked a throat, eyes lost as a gaze focused on the figure above her.

“Good girl. Your sis is right here.” Gentle. Balalaika was dropping any previous anger, ready to comfort as best as she could. She was broadening her accent too, slumping down shoulders to make herself appear smaller. 

Reaching out and clutching onto a hand, Revy stared. There’s no ring. It’s more petite, yet still withholds power. Smooth, silky, and soft. This is not his hand. 

Lips were examined next. Balalaika allowed herself to be laid down again, cautious of touching the younger woman on top of her. Being face to face, their eyes focused on one another. Blue eyes studied brown. The brown eyes are dead, soulless, too familiar to a child killed in front of a water fountain.

A finger passed over lips, skimming over them. They’re not chapped or malnourished. There’s no red over them, no smears on the corners that will match the shade of a tongue. These are not his lips. 

The tongue is the hardest part. There’s an underlining fear that settles in whenever Revy puts her finger inside a mouth. Ducking her head down and focusing on a pillow, she grew hush. Waiting for the body next to her to flip her over, do something that’s been done before.

All the tongue does is curl and slide, possibly tasting more than just skin. Scarlet rose on Revy’s face at the thought. Shivers roll up and down a spine at the sensation. It’s warmer, more pleasant. There’s no dragging, and it’s not as rough as sandpaper. It’s definitely not his tongue. 

The finger was released from full lips. Raising her head lead Revy to see a faint smile that faltered when she flinched at Balalaika reaching towards her. 

The blonde took a different approach as she let her nails run on ribs. Revy fell for it. Fingers replaced nails as her rib cage was being tickled. No words could even be pronounced since there was too much laughter that was stifled against a pillow. The laughter was light compared to the usual gritty tone that possessed Revy’s voice. 

Moving away or twisting her body didn’t help either, as the fingers moved to separate places. A strategic attack so Revy would be unable to block both at the same time. All the while Balalaika herself kept the younger girl trapped as she continued to run her fingers along on skin. 

Balalaika never noticed that half the time Revy was smiling because the blonde had her own smile too. The other half was due to how insanely good the blonde was at finding her weak spots as she made pitiful noises and small curses in protest. 

“Sis!” That somehow got Balalaika to stop. Both of them caught their breath, a smile that was so wide it most likely looked stupid was on Revy’s face.

Then a grumble was heard as Revy climbed onto plush hips. The older woman had a blank face, a fleeting smile appearing for a moment as her nose was kissed.

A pout formed on Revy’s lips at the loss of contact. It worked, as it always did and Revy was able to lead the hand back to her face and lean into it for comfort. An appreciative hum broke out of Revy as she held the hand there and closed her eyes.

Praying was the only thing Revy could do as she prepared to do her Romeo act. Strangeness still lurked as she found a nice position on top of Balalaika. “You deserve this.” Gesturing to everything might’ve been too vague for an accurate meaning. Revy wasn’t brave enough to tell the blonde that she deserved a lot more than what she already had. A fuckton more. 

Revy let her hands roam free over Balalaika’s body. Letting the pads of her fingers explore and memorize. Unsure over when this will happen again. If it would happen. Cupping a cheekbone she spoke, “As my Balalaika.” The next words were supposed to be light and teasing, but they came out hoarse and heavy.  
“My Sis.”

“What do you feel?”

Bringing Balalaika’s hands to meet her skin, Revy gave free reign as the hands caressed along her. Small noises were made as the nails at times poked sensitive areas, creating indents. When the hands came to her stomach, she tightened her abs, proud of the muscle there. All Balalaika did was roll her eyes at the action. 

“Your skin,” Balalaika said. Said was the bare minimum as the Russian uttered the words. It sounded more like an obvious duh, as her hands kept trailing and touching Revy. Pride oozed out of her tone when she opened her mouth again. “It’s soft.” 

Of course it’s soft, she’s been touching Revy’s “feminine side” and forcing her to do the same beauty regimen. Or tried would be the better word, there was only so much she could take. 

Sometimes it got to the point where she would have to run away and lock herself in the restroom until a truce was made. Balalaika always broke it once she peeked her head out the door.

Revy sighed at the thought. She really hopes that she’ll be able to come back and experience it again. Balalaika tilted her head, looking confused at the change of mood. 

A weak smile and a guide of a hand had tensions rise. A strong hand cupped a knee, almost covering it entirely. Almost as if the scar underneath is dirty in some way. “A scar from a sword,” Balalaika whispered. “One that nearly cost you your life.” 

Guilt weighed down on shoulders at how chiding the blonde sounded. How inhuman it made Revy feel whenever her possible death was mentioned. The vampires thought they were invincible too, not even considering the fact that a bullet can glide seamlessly through their body; piercing their organs and veins. 

Glancing back at Balalaika left Revy breathless. Blue eyes were critical and grave. On one hand it seemed like the Russian had finally accepted the fact that the Chinese mutt sitting on top of her would go to Hell first. On the other hand, it seemed like she was ready to defy that fact and find a way to win against death in some dam-national chess game. 

That thought hurts more than it should; Balalaika caring about her life. The mere act of pretend, as if she’s going to fall for it. With the muscle of the Lagoon Company gone, it would mean the loss of a potential asset that could’ve been used in the future. Until Two Hands is replaced by some other gunman that’s easier to handle. One that’s less of an airhead too. 

“A scar from a bullet.” Blinking, Revy realized that Balalaika was touching her arm. “One from my own men.” Scowling at the words, Revy shied away from the Russian, aware of the lie. It wasn’t her men, she’s the one that ordered it, then her men shot her. That’s the issue, no matter what happens Balalaika will never listen, never stop in her warpath to prevent the death of her Two Hands. 

“What do you see?”

The blonde opened her mouth and closed it. Revy’s face was lowered so that she had a better view of what she was trying to find. Balalaika continued to stare, the slightest bit of shame creeping into her throat as her jaw locked in place. Then she spoke, “Brown eyes. One of the walking dead.”

A short sharp laugh exited out of Revy’s lungs. It’s a problem. A question that’ll never be answered between them on who is walking better and which one of them is more dead. All of it has been brushed over, their experiences that formed them into what they are today. 

Revy stopped sharing right after Balalaika shared herself. In hindsight having a shitty parent was kinda weak against someone who went through war, torture, and witnessed their own friends being killed. But there’s still details that create a new picture. The older woman probably has some idea of what happened. And she’s going to remain clueless until she takes a closer look, at least for a couple of seconds. 

Balalaika moved her finger, the edge of it ghosting a scar. “Another scar.” The words came out as a low murmur. Cold on the edges of her accent, acting as frostbite. “One that you don’t let me touch.” Yeah, definitely frostbite. 

Revy replied. At least she tried to. Jumbled words stammered out of her mouth instead. Fuck, she’s not going to be come out of the fever a second time in a single night. It won’t work. 

“Mysterious isn’t it?” God, this is bad. “That you can touch my scars yet I’m not allowed to touch one scar of yours that is the size of my nail.” She’s speaking as if Revy is Rock all of a sudden. There’s a phantom energy of a gun pointed at her; a trigger ready to be pulled only for the gun to be cold and empty.

“What do you hear?”

Squealing of tires and a loud crash signaled another car wreck. Both of them sighed, one of them in relief, the other disappointment. Shouts mingled with yells as two men argued over what sounded like some brat that ran in the road. By the sound of it the kid got squashed in between them like a fly and they were squabbling over who crashed into who. 

Cuddling closer to Balalaika earned Revy body warmth and comfort. Images of present wrapping and ribbons, the scent of a pine tree and flashing lights. Finishing the memory with bullet holes, glass and blood painted a clear picture of what happened. Just how fucked up can you be to do that?

“Your heart,” Balalaika said.

“Huh?” Revy blinked in shock at the hand that was covering over her heart. Observing the hand leaves her feeling content and safe. The difference between their hands is in a way astonishing. 

The older woman’s hand is bigger than her own, not once seen to have any discoloring or bruises. And yet that hand threw Rock on a car, held a gun at his face, and supposedly snapped the neck of a full grown man. The last thing she’s not so sure of. But Rock said it happened, and now Revy’s really considering the fact of her neck being snapped one day too. 

Putting on a joking smile, Revy looked down at Balalaika. “Am I healthy doc?” The blonde squinted her eyes and pursed her lips, her fingers again dancing over ribs before settling on hips. “Quite,” Balalaika replied.

A small smile was on her face in the next moment, as she continued to run her gaze over Revy’s body. “It still wouldn’t hurt if more food disappeared from the fridge.” 

“I’ll be sure to leave a note for the ghost who keeps eating it.” Revy flashed a smile back, teeth glinting akin to those of a psychotic werewolf. 

“What do you taste?”

Heat. It felt like boiling lava was hidden underneath the bed in the room as Revy leaned in and said the words against teasing, sinful lips. Noses brushed against each other, following the tongues that peeked out. A cocky grin split a face as the queen fell apart and pulled her gunslinger closer. 

Several moans were choked out, the previous grin turning into liquid as a groping hand laid still on a body. The moans turned into soft smitten whimpers as Revy was overpowered into sweet submission. “Fuck.” Pushing Balalaika away was nearly futile as the kissing just didn’t stop; serving as an endless full frontal attack. 

The kisses morphed into softer ones that were more patient as the blonde started to take her time in letting her tongue explore. And for some odd reason it continued. The touch of delicate and mellow kisses that were only stopped by burning lungs. 

Finally the kissing ended and Revy forgot at that point why they were kissing in the first place. A haze held itself in warm eyes as Balalaika kissed Revy once more, slowly leading her off of her body so that they may lay side to side. Blushing cheeks got rewarded by a throaty chuckle and a playful pinch.

Revy took a quick peek at the Russian from the corner of her eyes. Balalaika was the woman who was gazing at her under hooded eyes, resting her head mere inches away from her, and the best damn thing was the smile that matched the tilt of a head. 

All of it together spraypaints a thought bubble of what Balalaika must’ve been thinking. Probably imagining that her Two Hands is some cute animal that she rescued herself off the street. Maybe even gave it kisses and food as well, along with her military coat that absolutely enveloped the poor thing in some big heap on the floor. 

Balalaika had the audacity to lick her lips, as if she didn’t try to kill the both of them with the lack of oxygen. “Lucky Strike cigarettes, mixed with rum and beer,” she said. “With an aftertaste.” Revy cocked her head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. 

She groaned, “Godamn.” Yeah, they both knew exactly what the aftertaste was. Heh, at least she’s still doing a good job in keeping her woman satisfied. 

“You taste good; as always.” Revy said as she nuzzled Balalaika. “Black tea, Havana cigar, lemon.” A sultry smirk and hooded eyes looked at striking blue. “With an aftertaste of us of course.” 

“What do you smell?”

Balalaika moved Revy closer to her and feigned a look of disgust as her nose scrunched up, turning away with a sly smile on her face. “Hey!” Then the Russian actually did put her face in the gunslinger’s neck and breathed in. 

“You smell like pumpkin,” Balalaika said. Taking another breath caused her to move away, staring at Revy in thought. “Or perhaps a Michaels store.” Fuck. Revy tried to twist away, right as Balalaika’s eyes narrowed in realization. “This isn’t glade is it?” 

Revy licked her lips, eyes straying around the room. “No.” Out of the corner of her vision Balalaika is still there, patient and waiting as ever. “Ok, maybe.” Quivering of a mouth overflows with humiliation as the truth creaked out. “I didn’t have time to fucking shower.”

“If you need a shower that badly then I won’t mind waking you up earlier for a morning one.” Balalaika rubbed Revy’s back, bringing the pirate back down to her, slowly sinking and sinking until a head rested on a chest. 

“Nooo,” Revy whined. “I don’t wanna wake up early.” 

“You’ll get to shower with me.” Revy perked up at that, a hungry smirk manifesting as her eyelids lowered. Balalaika lifted Revy’s head, her lips curving into her own version of a smirk. “As long as you’re good.”


End file.
